


Songbird of Jamestown Ch.4

by VasaliaTheWise



Category: Jamestown (TV)
Genre: 17th Century, Angst, Animals, Cinderella Circumstances, Colonial Virginia, F/M, Fluff, HEHEHEHHE, I mean, Intrigue, Mutual Pining, Secrets, Slow Burn, Sweet Moments, angst with an...ending, but the pining, is so real, reader is an angel, she is in it - Freeform, unless you are on Tumbr, you guys aren't getting a hint how it ends, you guys buckle your seat belts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VasaliaTheWise/pseuds/VasaliaTheWise
Summary: It is 1619-1620, you have arrived on a boat to the English colony of Jamestown as the company’s plans to send maids to make wives. You hope for a new life and perhaps marriage despite your friend’s struggles. Then you cross paths with the colony recorder, he’s kind, shares your interests, intelligent, handsome…and engaged.
Relationships: Samuel Castell/Reader, Samuel Castell/fem!Reader





	Songbird of Jamestown Ch.4

“Who knows, not England once was like, a wilderness and savage place. Until government and use of men that government that wildness did deface? And so Virginia may, in time, be made like England now. Where long loved peace and plenty both, sits smiling on her brow”- Anon, London’s Lottery, 1612.

Speaking to strangers was sometimes a circle of hell to you. The sight of the governor’s wife on the streets of the town stuck you with a slight terror knowing your intention.   
Although it was an overcast afternoon, it was balmy. There was silent sunlight that made you squint. You took note she was heading home and followed her at a polite distance. She chatted with almost everyone jovially as you waited in the back. From her hair, put up and decorated with small pearls to her dark blue dress with a rather large skirt, she appeared regal.   
Finally, she reached her home. A whole garden filled with vegetables lined the side, but the green did not make the house look any friendlier. It loomed over you and its door was like a beast’s mouth.  
Mercy said she needed work. But what would she think of you begging her for money? Your mouth went dry and your brain urged you to flee.   
But as you drew your sights lower, you saw her eyes kept going down. She was holding the hand of her little daughter, with curly brown hair and full, rosy cheeks. The girl was skipping across the dirt, half-tugging her mother, babbling away about her new baby brother. The Lady looked down on her and even swung her arms, much to the girl’s squeals.  
Someone like that would not curse you away.   
Taking a deep breath, you started walking before your thoughts would stop you.   
“Lady Yeardley, may I request your presence briefly?” you asked.  
She nodded politely and sent the tiny girl back home. Breathing in, your hands pressed but fiddling with each other, you spoke how you heard she had the need and you were experienced. You made your offer as a maidservant briefly.  
“I cannot hire you,” the Lady Yeardley said.  
“Oh…I’m ver-very sorry…” you whimpered; you look down on the ground to your shoes. “Mercy said you were, uh, were available and I’m…I’m running out of food. And money. I-I have to work.”  
“It is not that I doubt your abilities, not at all. You’re experienced, even. You would make a lovely maid. There are only two reasons. One, we were all told not to treat the new women here like servants, and second…”   
Breathing in, her brown bun dotted with little pearls seemed to shake. Then she stepped a little closer to you. You stepped forward. Her voice was lower.  
“I saw you walking the other day in the company of Master Castell unaccompanied. Are you employed by him?” she asked.   
Though the way she pronounced her words seemed sharp, her brown eyes still looked soft.  
“No, I…I am not” you answered.  
“And you know he is to be married soon?”   
“I do.”  
“Then were your intentions honorable?”   
Behind you, you jumped as you heard a few goats being led off through the streets, bleating. A farmer whistled and swatted a long stick to keep them in line.   
“If not, you do understand that adultery on this colony is punished by hanging” Lady Yeardley warned  
Legs shaking, you couldn’t grasp at what to say other than a polite sputter of “Yes, Lady Yeardley.”  
Death for a few flowers?   
“Dear maiden, don’t be afraid. I mean no harm. I do not mean to frighten you. Only to protect you. I remember you on the boat. I’ve even heard your voice as you do your chores. Your presence is a good one here if you ask me. So, you need to know of any possible danger. Any frivolity here can be fatal in the wrong hands. So, tell me, in all honesty before someone else does, where were you going and what happened?” she interrogated.  
You held your hands, clasping them together to squeeze them for some comfort.   
“Your secret will be safe with me, I won’t report you” she assured, walking forward and opening her hands for you to take.  
Looking her in the eye, you grasped your palms to hers and began “Lady Yeardley, that day I walked with S-“  
You also bit back the thought of his first name, Samuel. That name you would silently whisper to yourself at night before you went to sleep. But you shook your head and corrected yourself.   
“With Master Castell, yes, we were walking, but nothing dishonorable had happened. I swear to you, he was…” you continued.   
You felt short of breath. Lies were impossible for you. And remembering Henry’s threats, illegal here. The Lady leaned to you and nodded patiently.  
Taking a deep breath in, you began to recount that idyllic, almost secret, yet innocent hour.  
Or that was about to come out of your mouth when Jocelyn swung by, practically butting in her hatted head like a horned goat butting a bale of hay.  
“Why, Miss Y/L/N, I need to speak with you at once. Mistress, whatever are you speaking of with her?” she queried. Her voice was dripping as smooth as honey.  
“Mistress Woodbyrg, you know that this girl was seen in public walking with your fiancée unaccompanied and has confessed to it?” Lady Yeardley asked.  
You felt your teeth grit. How on earth would Jocelyn react to this? Would they find Samuel and then ask him what happened? Would you be sent to the stocks? Jailed? Worse?   
“Why yes. I do know!” she said.  
You felt your stomach dropped at how cheery she sounded.   
Hanging it was.  
“As a surprise wedding present, he decided to gift me with Miss Y/L/N to be my maid until we’re married!” she informed. A bright smile appeared on her so large, it could touch her earrings.  
She told a bloody lie to the governor’s wife! She could get hanged in an instant if it’s proven! you thought.  
“What about Mercy?” you blurted.   
You remember seeing the little servant girl scurrying behind Jocelyn all the time, hopping across the dry sections of the mud like a rabbit or hanging on to Jocelyn’s or Samuels cloak to prevent dirt, though her own was caked at the seams. Though lately there was a slight red mark on Mercy’s cheek.  
“Oh, she’s going to mainly work in Castell’s house to lighten her load. Another wedding gift,” Jocelyn coolly answered.  
“But she’s asking me to be my maid!” Lady Yeardley responded, looking between you two.  
Her brows furrowed in confusion and her nose went up. Yet you noticed how Jocelyn’s shoulders relaxed and her calm smile was still.  
“Well, you know Miss Y/L/N is a silly fool and forgets so much, is it not? She even forgot her interview!” she chirruped.   
She walked over to you and laced one white sleeved arm around yours, her pastel pink sleeve felt like ice compared to the hands of the governor’s wife.  
“He only wanted to be sure it was a surprise. But I just figured it out, dear man!”   
There was a stiffness in her eyes that dared your refusal by the pain of death. What if this was a trap?  
But what choice did you have? If you said no, then it meant denying this was the reason you were in public with Samuel and there was only one other reason that Lady Yeardley would decide it was. A reason that would cost you dearly to confess in public with the woman he was promised to. Lady Yeardley might be able to keep a secret safe, but you weren’t sure if Jocelyn could.  
“I…well…yes, I had forgotten. I’m your maid now. Do forgive me, Lady Yeardley, I am a foolish girl. I only wanted to be sure of my options” you agreed.  
“I promise you, we’ll be like sisters” Jocelyn assured, looking at you with a wrinkled nose.  
“Very good! Best of luck with your future here, Miss Y/L/N. I give you my blessing,” Lady Yeardley praised, oblivious to how you were feeling the color drain from your face.  
Suddenly from the house, an infant began wailing.   
“Excuse me,” she acknowledged before turning the door shut.  
Jocelyn half-dragged your arm, to point to where she was staying until marriage (“The Pierces, good friends of Master Castell”), she then detailed each minute of her routine at a rapid pace. From which berry she preferred to eat to what songs she would prefer you to sing if she wanted to hear them to how her pillow should be fluffed before she laid down to sleep.   
Head spinning, you counted each task on your finger of what was expected. Secretly, you longed for paper, ink, and quill just to draw out each chore.   
Even more, a knowledge of how to write each chore and request. Not silly drawings. Real words in real sentences, like the very rich and educated people in London.   
Glancing back at Jocelyn discussing matters of payment in her pastel pink gown and mint green cape, you bet a family that could dress their daughter like that could teach her to write.   
You snapped back at the sound of Jocelyn’s smooth, low voice repeating the time you were to be there.  
“Don’t be late. And…Miss Y/L/N?”   
“Yes?”  
“There’s dirt on your face.” She reprimanded with a smirk.  
It was a quiet supper later. Though you gave your reports of being a maid, Alice only smiled. She barely touched her bread. Then she excused herself and sat on your shared bed. Quiet tears were falling down her cheeks.  
“I’m sorry, Y/N, it’s just…I was remembering Henry and…I just…I can still feel him on me, no matter what I do.”  
“I understand, Alice” you soothed.  
There was a loud knock on the door.   
Jumping, You and Alice looked at each other with large, worried eyes. Her breaths were suddenly shorter, and her hands were shaking. Neither of you budged. You tried to look over where on earth you could hide Alice at a moment’s notice.  
“Alice? Y/N?” an Irish tinted voice lilted. “Ya should bloody know me!”  
You both Released your held breath. Walking over, you opened the door to see Verity’s slightly dirty, but stunning face.   
“Verity! Oh, Verity! How good to see you!” Alice chimed, immediately going to embrace her.   
Verity accepted the hug and squeezed her arm. A bit of cool night air rushed into your house.  
“Verity, shouldn’t you be at the tavern?” you ask.  
“I needed to leave fer a bit! ‘Sides, Y/N, I hadn’a seen ya fer a few days” she greeted.  
She swaggered in, taking in the flowers and even picking up and sniffing a few. Her pale skin was glowing in the orange candlelight and her magnificent mane of copper hair seemed to glow too. Verity always seemed as bold, untamed, and free as her hair.   
But her smile looked strained.   
“Come, sit! It seems we haven’t talked in a year! I know you’re married to the tavern keeper now… How is your husband?” you asked, motioning her to sit on a chair at the table.  
Verity and Alice looked at each other wide-eyed.   
Recalling that day you left the ship, you recalled Verity’s husband did not collect her and how hurried and confused her brow grew as she stepped into town to find him. She seemed to shrink amid the relieved faces of happy women glad to find land and in some cases, spouses.  
Verity walked over and plopped herself heavily onto the chair with a groan.  
“Me husband? He’s piss drunk right now, what ‘e is. No diff’rent than any other night” she complained.  
Getting up at once to the nearest clean plate, you offered her Alice’s bread, some goat milk, and some berries. Verity chewed on the food in silence. Then she began gulping down the milk so much that a bit fell onto her bodice and she wiped the remnants with her hand.  
“Ye got anythin’ stronger?” she asked, looking at the white milky bits on her arm.  
“No, not at all. There was a little ale I bought but…but it just vanished. Must’ve lost it somewhere” You explained.  
Glancing at where the food and church rations were kept against the other wall in cabinets and a pot over a small hearth. Verity leaned over and shot up her eyebrows in surprise.  
“It…doesn’a look much.”  
Blinking away tears she popped another berry into her mouth as if it could give her the peace of mind a drink might.  
“D’you know ‘e tried to whore me off me first week ‘ere, Y/N?” she confessed.  
“No!” you gasped.   
“’e’s a bloody scoundrel. ‘E even cheated so it wouldn’a happen. But still…And I…I thought maybe it could work, but I’m…I’m jus’ worried. What will ‘appen to me? E’ll jus’ drink and gamble and waste ‘is life away. How’m I gonna live?”   
She grabbed a piece of bread, ripped it with ferocity, and then bit into it hard.   
“Alice, did you know?” you whisper.  
As she nodded, your blood went cold.  
You felt your jaw clench at the thought. Nearly prostituted by her husband on a bet. A husband who couldn’t keep his head straight without getting drunk. Cheating? Gambling? This wasn’t what Verity deserved.  
And you didn’t even need to recall Alice’s situation. At least while she was free, she could stay here, and it was illegal for Henry to enter. But not for long. Once she was married, she may as well be a sheep to his slaughter.   
What could you do for Verity?   
There was one thing…but it wasn’t much.  
Without speaking, you left the table and kept your distance, listening as the two began to speak worriedly about how little their lives seemed to compare to the promises of the Virginia Company.  
“A free land? Bah! Not worth it with men the likes of these! And Y/N’s free, but the company’s gonna insist she marry soon to pay everythin’ off! 150 dammed pounds of tobacco is too bloody much!” Verity ranted.   
She turned over her shoulder to look at you and pointed, her brows lowered in worry.  
“The time’s gonna come fer yer freedom and maidenhead whether ya ready fer it or not!”   
She finished the berries by cupping them into her hand and pouring them into her mouth. You cringed at the thought of giving your freedom and maidenhead to someone like Henry Sharrow.   
Looking over to your bed, you snuck your hand to the place under your mattress to your little leather pouch. Verity tilted her head.  
Pulling the strings apart, you counted fifteen coins. You plucked out five.  
“Verity, here, have some of this,” you said.   
You press a few coins into her hand and cover her fingers over her palm with yours.   
“But…That’s really her husbands!” Alice warned.   
“He doesn’t have to know” you explain. “Verity, you can get yourself something to help you out, in any way. Food. Clothes. Shelter even. Anything to make your life bearable.”  
Verity shrugged with a foxlike grin as she took off her shoe and hid the coins.   
“I barely spoke with ye and ye already givin’ me yer earned coin!” she scoffed. “I’m just a low thief, I’m not worthy.”  
“You’re smarter and braver than most ladies I know! You’re more than worthy! And you need this more than me. I’m working now, I’ll earn more.” you insisted.  
Alice walked in, her eyes growing big.  
“Y/N, are you sure about this? We’re already running out. And your eggs- this morning I’ve been counting and…we’ve only two eggs- someone’s been taking things from us!” she fretted.  
She pointed to where the egg basket was kept and showed that indeed there were only two small eggs.   
You shook away the thought of giving the money back and brushed Alice off.   
“No, Verity, you deserve it. I don’t have much, but I could give you all I have if I could. Just know if you need help, come to me immediately and I will try to help. I have a house and money that’s my own. Alice has the Sharrows. But what do you have?”  
Verity smiles brightly. No hint of slight sadness this time. She walks up to you and pats your back proudly.   
“I ‘eard about what you said to Henry. Wish I could’a been there to see it meself. ‘E deserves worse, the bastard. Yer a kind woman to do that, Y/N,” she said.  
“You met the blacksmith here? He said kindness kills people.” You recalled, thinking back to that morning not long ago.   
Glancing at the window, you noticed a new set of primroses were there. The blacksmith sure was insistent!  
“But ye did save me, and I could’ve killed me ‘usband. So that’s a life saved!” she joked before she said her goodbyes, opened the door and left.  
After she closed the door, you sat back down, your pouch in your hands, and sighed. It felt dangerously lighter.  
“I’m so nervous I wonder if I could sleep,” You confess.  
“Oh, Y/N, you have no reason to be. I’ve been with Jocelyn on that ship, remember? She has her kind moments, you’ll see.” She said, placing a light hand on your shoulder.  
Heavy rainfall lulled you both to heavy sleep.  
The sky was blush pink, refreshed from the rain, as you dashed in that morning to the house. It was hard enough ducking the mud and animal dung on the streets while still tying your apron behind you. Recognizing the house where Jocelyn was staying twenty paces away, you froze.  
The ground in front of it was covered in mud. A large pig laid down cooling himself in it. There was a butcher nearby salting his wares on an open table. They were bloody. And some blood seeped to the mud.   
Seeing no dry place to hop across, you sucked in a breath and hurriedly stepped through the mud right to the front door and knocked.  
The housewife answered. She was pale, very tall, green-eyed with a ginger bun, and was bedecked with dark red finery and lacy white gloves. You backed away a little.  
“Oh, hello. Mister Pierce is away. Who...who are you?” the woman asked, frowning.  
“I’m the new maid for Jocelyn, Mercy has been given a break” you explained shyly/  
She stepped aside, gesturing you to walk in.  
Looking around, it was an open room and very wooden. Wood floors. Wood walls. Sunlight flooded in as the only light. A desk stood in the middle of it and across from the entrance. It held two large, brass candlesticks and was littered with paper and ink. There were a few chairs and stools. Two windows were placed high up on opposite walls, but they were grimy. Candles were attached high up on wicks, unlit. As plain as your shelter.  
“Excuse me, mistress…”   
“Pierce. Mistress Pierce.” The lady answered, with a polite curtsy.   
Curtsying back, you babbled “I’m Y/N Y/LN, and my mistress says she always needs me to greet her and then to eat in the morning.”  
“Well, the kitchen’s there” Mistress Pierce pointed out to the left.  
You scurried into a small kitchen separated only by a long, white curtain nailed from the ceiling. In the middle was a table with a basket where six eggs waiting to be cracked for breakfast. Sunlight drifted in, still gentle from the morning. But that and the fireplace made it stuffy. The whole place smelled of the oatmeal that was bubbling over the fire nearby.  
“Where is she sleeping?” you ask.   
Mistress Pierce points to some stairs nearby and ducking your head as thanks, you rushed up. And knocked on the door.  
“Enter.”  
Creaking quietly, your eyes scatter, finding the bed to your immediate right. You then stepped forward and curtsied.   
It was a dark room. The window on the wall to your right had its shutters closed. It was all completely wooden from the walls to the beams and brown. There was even a table with a red cloth and a large chest on top. There were even a few places on the wall where there were candles. Two more desks you noticed were on either side of the bed.  
Jocelyn was in her nightgown, her blond hair dripping in ringlets over her shoulders on her large, dark wooden bed with the biggest green, velvet, canopy curtains you have ever seen. Her lap and legs were covered by a large, pink blanket and white sheets. She crossed her long, white sleeves.   
“I’ve been awake for an hour, where is my breakfast?” she demanded.  
“It is…uhm…coming right up.”   
Stepping downstairs, you tried to concentrate on what berries she liked to eat in the morning as to not mix them up. Returning with a bowl of oatmeal and some blueberries in a cup, you walked up holding the plate, trying to smile lightly.  
But the stubborn frown on Jocelyn’s graceful face remained.  
“You’re too slow…” she cursed.   
Frowns were growing on your face as well. Folding your hands and looking down, you decided it was better to bring up what she would ask about now rather than later.  
“Mistress Woodbyrg…I assure you, as you know, I did walk with Master Castell. And I am aware you are engaged to him. But I swear to you, he was chaperoning me so I could gather a few flowers just outside the fort for Alice Kett. It was his idea, not mine. He kept his distance as I picked and made sure I returned safely. He was only worried about me going out alone. He is a gentleman, as you know. Nothing improper happened. And…you can even ask him if you would like. He will give you the same answer” you confessed slowly.  
Your heart raced as you looked up into Jocelyn’s stare.  
She shrugged and nodded.  
“Fine by me. I want this cleaned up. Now. I despise this room” she snapped.  
Rushing down, ignoring how your legs were sore already, you grabbed a broom and some water and a cloth. Then you hurried back and at once got to work.   
You began to sweep out dirt on the floor in silence. Sometimes Jocelyn looked down at the food before her, and sometimes at you. Placing the broom against the wall, you stood on your tiptoes to reach to open the shutters and let in light. It had a view of the dirtiest, brownest part of the colony.  
“I…can gather flowers for you…  
Jocelyn’s eyes stabbed into you.  
“… with Alice. As a gift of thanks for your generous em-employment…would m-make the p-place brighter,” you added with a panic.  
“Hopefully the flowers won’t be as ugly as you are, Miss Y/L/N. And next time, wipe your skirt and shoes before you come in,” she said.  
I could take that mud and throw it at you right now you thought.  
But you threw the thought away. If one was locked in the lion’s den, then it was better not to provoke the lions and wait for an angel to shut their mouths.  
She set aside her dishes on the desk at her right and wiped the crumbs and a few stray berries off the blankets.  
“Sweep them,” she told you right as you dipped the cloth into the water.  
Nodding, you gathered your broom and swept them off, you had barely put them away when you heard Jocelyn say something.  
“Y/N…there is a dress over there in that chest that needs mending. The floors can wait.” She declared, pointing to a huge chest on the wall across from her bed.  
You got up and walked over, seeing how it was filled with little bronze knobs scattered all over for decoration. Opening it, you saw a stunningly beautiful gown. Far prettier than anything you owned. It was golden with a bejeweled bodice and lace all around the collar of the neck. Checking it, there were only a few minor tears. It seemed to beam more with the drifting light.  
Maybe it cost as much as half of your belongings. Looking up, Jocelyn tossed her curls from her shoulders and looked right into your eyes.  
You placed it carefully in your arms, took the closest chair, took out the needle and thread you kept in your apron pocket and began to mend the tears in the skirt.  
Recalling Alice’s words, you mumbled out “It will look beautiful on-”  
“Better than it would on you. That will be my wedding dress.” Jocelyn interrupted with a smile.   
Feeling fire in your eyes, a couple of tears betrayed you. You didn’t even dare to look up to see if Jocelyn would react to your reaction. You just breathed slowly and kept mending.   
Perhaps this was a trap indeed. Was she dangling the fine things she had in front of you? Or even her marriage? If she tempted or tricked you to steal It and you somehow managed, like everyone thought maids did, it would be seconds away from the stocks.  
At least one good thing will come from this marriage, I won’t have to work for you any longer, you brooded silently.  
“Do you know why my wedding was delayed?” Jocelyn queried, walking over to the window with a pink blanket draped over her shoulders.  
“No,” you answer.   
You turn the dress over, looking for any other tears.  
“There was a sudden business venture he had to take up! He had to reassess the records for errors and adjust his work for the new influx of women and land! He has to work even at night!” She huffed.  
You heard as the butcher outside began to slice something wet and thick open.  
“This is the whole reason I am here! But, if I must wait, I will wait.” she sighed.   
Keeping quiet, you inspect the dress once more before folding it delicately and placing it back into the chest.  
“Make the bed for me, I need it neat. I don’t want it to be as rumpled as your dress” she barked.  
I’m supposed to scrub the floors next, you little… you fumed inside.  
You focus your best on the action of turning it over, folding and unfolding the sheets, and every physical sensation. Just to get out of your thoughts.  
Scrubbing the floors had to wait. She insisted you style her hair next, giving you exact instructions and attacking you with glares and a chide if you got a certain curl twisted wrong. After pulling her cream stays and tying them, dressing her in her pastel petticoats and skirts, and adding a blue hat with a small feather, she gave a curt nod.  
Jocelyn insisted you walk with her to church, carrying her cloak up and back. Despite the minister’s droning, you felt curious and even surprised eyes look at how close you had to sit next to her. You even noted Samuel’s eyes looking at you and blinking rapidly. Your white coif seemed very humble next to Jocelyn’s feathered hat atop her head.  
You both headed back to the house, her cloak raised as high as you could carry while your skirt got more mud.   
Jocelyn blabbered a list of chores that made your head spin. The floor was not mentioned.  
And then you ran to complete each one. Every press of water, every sweep, and every work of needle or knead of bread. By the time of the sunset, you had presented her with dinner in the kitchen. She sat down to eat, and you finally dragged your feet upstairs, and got the cloth in the water bucket to scrub the floors.   
You first heard the loud growling of your stomach as you scrubbed fervently. Turning around, you heard a bit of wood creaking under someone’s feet.  
“I’m not hungry. Undress me.”  
You took off her hat and cloak and placed them back in their chests. Then you unlaced her stays and removed each skirt, petticoat, shoe (which, to your silent frustration, was muddy), and stocking, then you draped a clean smock over her head.  
Jocelyn smirked at the sound of your stomach as she pushed her arms through the sleeves.  
“Do you see the end of the desk to the left? There’s some food, water, and your money in the pouch.” You are dismissed for today,” she said.  
Looking at the end of that desk, there was a white and blue jug of water, oatmeal in a bag, two apples, and two gold coins in a small pouch.   
It was the water jug that sored the muscles of your arms where it lay, but you walked hurriedly at night. You were nervous if any local men would feel bolder at night. You set your eyes straight on the path to where home was, not daring to wander elsewhere.   
Except you smelt tobacco and impulsively looked to your left.  
But you did pass Samuel briefly, smoking a pipe next to Yeardley outside in the evening air, he gave you the kindest smile you had seen all day and bowed gallantly. You curtsied back, barely bending your knees, and then quickened your pace away.  
Ugly…dirty…slow…  
Alice woke up in the middle of the night to your sobs, as quiet as you tried to make them. But they came out before you could limit their strength, as well as the whimpers from your mouth. You had curled in a fetal position away from where she was lying next to you.  
His image, Jocelyn’s words, and your reality were too clear.  
“Y/N, what’s the matter?” she asked.  
You didn’t turn to face her. Too many nights you were the one hearing her cry and trying to comfort her. You were the one awoken from her screams of a nightmare about Henry and had to shake her awake.   
“I can’t tell you it’s…it’s ugly and dangerous, I…I think I’m committing a crime. But I…I can’t tell you!” you stammer through your hot tears.  
And you knew if Jocelyn and Alice were on good terms, it was another ally for your friend, no matter what they did to you. Another person who could help Alice with her approaching marriage.   
“Don’t be silly, you can tell me!” Alice vowed; she laid a warm hand on your shoulder.  
“It involves someone you know. Someone you like.”  
“Who is it?”  
Turning around to face her drooping eyebrows and half-open lids, you shook your head.  
“Let’s wait a month, and then I’ll tell you,” you promise.  
She soothed your hair until your tears ended and you could sleep.  
But by the time you woke up, Alice was gone.   
She didn’t return the next day either.   
Waking up by the third day your arms ached to even put your shoes on your feet. Glancing over at the egg basket, you counted one egg. Yesterday morning there were four thanks to your payment and you ate none.   
Sighing at the thought of another exhausting day, you grabbed a bite of bread and an apple to eat on your walk and opened the door to go out.  
Alice was immediately in front of you, her hair was out loose and blown from wind, her face was flushed.  
“Oh, Y/N! Y/N! Have you heard? The whole town is talking! Henry’s dead!”  
Head spinning, you took a few steps back and caught yourself.   
“No…this is a joke!” you denied, shaking your head.  
“It’s not! Henry’s dead!” Alice replied, her eyes widening and smile growing.   
Glancing around, it seemed no one who was about town seemed to care much of what you both were speaking. Still, it was better to be careful.   
“When…when did you learn this?” you ask.  
“This morning, I rushed from the Sharrow’s to tell you…and…” she kept rambling, you could tell she was keeping from bursting into bits from her excitement.  
“How did he die?” you hiss, interrupting.  
“There was a fire on the boat he was sleeping on” she explained, getting the drift and leaning her head closer.   
“It was so full of tobacco and gunpowder it caught fire. He didn’t jump out and swim. And it was a nasty fire, nothing remained!”   
Almost not believing it, you just took her hand. In Alice’s eyes, there was a hint of wicked glee in their shine. But then it slowly faded, and her frown returned. Her eyes went to the ground, down below where the monster now seemed to be.  
“I’m glad he’s dead” she spat.  
You squeezed her hand.  
“Me too. Alice, I need to go. Soon. Jocelyn hates it when I’m late,” You explained.  
“Wait, I need your key for a bit.” Alice insisted.  
“What for?”   
You clenched your teeth in fear of what venom Jocelyn would release for another morning lacking punctuality by her terms.  
“I’m taking my things. I’m going to live with the Sharrows.” She explained.  
“What! Why?”   
“Y/N, I…I owe them a debt. They are the reason I’m here. They have a farm and new land and need my help. And they’re…other than Henry, they’re my family now. They’re all the kindest people you’ve ever met. You’ve protected me from Henry best you could when they couldn’t but now that he’s dead…I’m free. I don’t need to hide. I can go out and do as I please now.”  
She leaned over and her voice dropped to a half-whisper.  
“I can even be with Silas, too. I think I may even love him.”  
Handing her a spare key, you give her a quick hug before you hurry out to town.  
“I’ll miss you, Alice. If you ever need help, if you have nightmares or anything about…you know what, run to me. Or Verity.” You wish as you release her.  
Before you run, you see Alice embracing the key to her breast and waving at you.  
Rushing inside, you give your curtsy, then scramble to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.   
You noticed the egg basket on the table. There were three more eggs than there was yesterday.  
Swallowing your anger and breathing in deep with that thought, you worked up a little smile and walked up with the bowl of oatmeal to greet your mistress.   
Jocelyn however, noted your entrance and breakfast with a scowl and a bit of “pig” as you gave her the oatmeal.  
“I’m tired of oatmeal. Y/N, I need you to start gathering eggs for tomorrows breakfast, so it won’t be late again, and be sure to sweep up any dust in this room, I want it spotless! And oh, the laundry!” she listed.  
She flounced over to a large woven basket where it was filled with her lovely dresses.  
“You need to do laundry every day now. First off, go to the river and wash them. Every. Last. inch.”   
“I…I will.” You answered.   
“If I find a speck of dirt you will have to wash it again. Go to the river. I accept river water for washing, not the dirty well water. It’s illegal, anyhow. If I see any dirt, or see you washing it with well water, I’ll send you to the stocks, don’t think I won’t” she threatened.   
Blinking away, you felt your arms groan from how heavy the basket was.  
“Go, you idiot!”  
Hurrying out, balancing with both arms and pushing the basket on your hip, you made your way to the river from a dirt path on the east of the fort. It was not a long distance. You could see that the wooden walls were only half a mile behind you.  
Hearing the bubbling water and a few feminine giggles, you saw the river with several other women also washing. It was a clear, grassy area near the water and there were large trees and bushes around you. It seemed the land right before the river dipped into a small hill that would plummet some unlucky person. You sat by a secure area where you could easily reach in with your hands, pulled out the brush and soap, gathered the first green skirt you saw, and got to work.  
Scrubbing and washing every elaborate layer of clothes ached your eyes and made your hands rough and red. Checking the large skirts for anything flawed felt like you were cleaning the sail of a ship. There were so many clothes, the basket tipped over and let them tumble out every time you set it up.  
Some ladies turned up their heads and noticed how large your load looked compared to theirs. Some gave you worried looks before turning their heads down. You were so focused, it seemed none would converse with you. When you did notice someone next to you, you felt your pulse quicken and your mouth dry again from nerves of what to say. Once you did think of some topic, your silent “companion” had left.   
Most women had left when you only scrubbed down four items, mentally marking what needed to be hanged. Sighing, dreading the thought of Jocelyn’s sour face and next insulting nickname, you turned to your pile to take the fifth item, setting up the fallen basket.  
There was a lump moving around under a white petticoat. Jumping, you hesitantly opened it. A little brown face full of fur popped out from beneath. You cried with surprise, backing off.  
But the animal that crawled out of the clothes and on top of the basket. It sniffed and kneaded the fabric. It looked like a weasel. It had a huge, soft black nose with whiskers and two black eyes amid a white face lining against its brown fur. Grooming its face with its paws, it then settled its soft, webbed feet over the silks and began to wiggle itself out of the basket.  
It turned out to be longer and plumper than any weasel you have ever seen! Was it even a weasel? Who knew what the creatures of Virginia ate or could do? Even a small snake killed Eurydice.   
The plump weasel made its way to the edge of the basket, letting it fall with the finery tumbling out. You waited for the creature to strike, backing away slowly as one did with bears.  
But it stood around, sniffing the clothes and chittering. If it did eat humans, it seemed relatively uninterested in you. While plump, it was still small next to you.   
Suddenly there were some footsteps behind you. They seemed heavy and short, perhaps that of a bear or maybe even some wicked rascal. Your skin crawled at the sound.  
It was getting closer.  
There was a large stick close by your feet. Calmly as manageable, you picked it up and swung it around from behind you.  
Thwap!   
“Stay back from me!” you yelled. Then you reached down, grabbed the dirt, and tossed it with all your strength.  
Samuel flinched, though he was ten paces away as your stick swatted the air in his direction and ducked in time for the dirt to fly flat to the ground before it could hit him.  
“Y/N! Y/N! I yield!” he cried, hands up in defeat.  
“Master Cas…Samuel! What on earth is going on? You scared me!” you apologized, dropping your stick to the ground at once.  
“I wanted to go on a ride in my boat to think and then I saw you…what are you doing here?”  
“I was doing laundry and…this…this thing! It popped in the clothes pile!” you explained, pointing at the weasel.   
It walked around, sniffing the more of the clothes that toppled out with it.  
“Why is it I always catch you when you’re working on clothes?” he joked lightly.  
“…You’re right!”  
Giving in to the indulgence of laughter, you felt a smile grow on you for the first time in days.  
“It doesn’t look dangerous! But…is it dangerous?” you asked.   
You walked behind Samuel, using him as a shield.  
He laughed a little.  
“Y/N, that’s an otter! And I promise you, it’s not dangerous at all. It has more reason to fear you instead…” he explained.  
It waddled closer to the river and stared up at you. You now noticed the gentleness of its black eyes, the softness of its fur, and how fast it was breathing in its big, black nose.  
“Oh, I am so sorry dear fellow. You…surprised me…I didn’t mean to scare you” you cooed out, charmed instantly by its innocent face.  
The otter looked at you, eyes shining, and then hopped into the river. You watched as it swirled and turned, showing the white mark on its belly. It floated peacefully away before dipping down and heading off.  
“You strike well, at least! But is anyone here?” He looked out, eyes glistening a bit, but lids half-lowered.  
“No, it seems every woman has done her laundry and left.” You sighed, looking after the clothes and putting them back into the basket.   
“I’m a maid for-I’m a maid now. Just for a little while. I have so much to do and I wasn’t given a list to remember them all,” you said.  
“Y/N, you could make a list.”  
Turning a bit red, you looked down in shame.  
“I can read, as you know, just not…write. Most of the women here can’t either. I just have to count on my fingers,” You confessed.  
It felt horrid to explain this to a man who probably not only already knew this, but whose own purpose in the whole of the colony was to write.  
“Well, you can always learn, if you’d like.” He offered; he even crouched a little to meet your eyes.  
“Really? How?”  
“You can try copying words from books but…where is the stick, ah! There!”  
He stopped low, letting his long arms reach for the stick by your feet. You retreated your feet, suddenly aware of how close he was.  
“If you have time, let’s start with the alphabet.” he began.  
He showed you how to trace letters in the dirt, which you copied with another stick. His own were curved and clean, yours had shaken as you traced it. You kept repeating the shape and sound.  
“X…Y…and Z?” you asked, checking his for where the lines pointed.  
“Yes, that is how you do it!” he praised, observing the letters.   
“Will you be here tomorrow at this time?” he asked.  
That was the light of your servitude. Washing and the break from washing. When there were other women around, they made little bits of chatter with him or you. It was company enough to ensure it was not dishonorable or unaccompanied.  
“Well, Master Castell, what is the matter ‘ere?” Verity asked the next day, leaning a small basket on her hip.  
“Nothing, Miss Y/L/N is learning how to write a little,” he answered with a bright smile that matched yours.  
“See Verity!” you cheered, “I can write all except for Q!” as you took your stick and drew smaller versions of the alphabet.   
Verity leaned down, then looked at you both, and gave a half-grin.  
It was a whole week of meeting amid heavy washing with a few minutes with Samuel to learn to write. On the fourth day, he began showing up with a quill, ink, paper, pen, and books.  
“Miss Y/L/N, now you start writing words. Here is the word ‘you’” he began, holding a piece of paper against a book before you and writing the word on it slowly.  
“And here is the word ‘me’…can you try that? We’ll start with simple words” he explained, passing the quill to your hand.  
“y…o…u… and me looks simple, m…e…” you mumbled as you carefully copied his writing.  
Then you double-checked each word and looked up to him, and he nodded his approval.  
He showed you how simple words formed, even with the silent letters. By the sixth day, he showed you how to write simple sentences. He showed you how books often had corners or blank pages in the back to scribble on. Then in the evening, amidst eating whatever you had earned, you traced the letters and words you remembered and in your book on your finger.  
On your books, you could write on them to practice miming the movements. It felt comforting without Alice’s presence in the evening.   
On the sixth day, you were using a collection of plays and copying down larger, flowery words. You pointed and asked how to write the words “murdered”, “remembrance,” “madness,” “beauty,” “vision”, and “avenge.” It all seemed fantastical compared to the practical sight before you of half of the townswomen washing. Once you had pointed to the word “nymph,” you suddenly recalled something.  
“I just remembered. I have your copy of The Faerie Queene, would you like it back?” you ask.  
“I’ve no use for it but…yes, I do. Do…do you need your copy of The Metamorphoses?” he added.   
He reached a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.  
“I’ve no dire need for it yet, so you may return it when you’re ready,” you said.  
He was quiet for a moment. You looked down at the yellow paper and began to write the word “nymph.” Then he shot up his answer once you had written the stem of “h.”  
“It’ll be ready in about…about five days. It’s a long book, and I’ve been busy, so forgive me.”  
“There’s nothing to forgive, Samuel.”  
By the seventh day, you were using his copy of Paradise Lost in the back to practice writing the word “garden.” Both of you were sitting on the ground as you used his pen to put the last curve on the “n.” Once you looked up with an accomplished smile, you saw Samuel’s face had gotten dark and his brows were furrowed.  
A cool breeze drifted by. Looking around, you and he noticed how there was no one else around. His posture stooped.  
“I…I have told no one else than Jocelyn of this but...I have been asked to be a spy.” He confided.  
“A spy!” you whispered; the thrill of a new skill forgotten.  
“The governor asked me. I had to agree. Then Farlow, my employer, began to ask questions. He said that he wanted me to spy for him on the governor!”  
“Goodness, you’re about to be everyone’s spy.”   
Your hand curled over the paper, watching as the letters of “garden” were drying.  
“I panicked. Then I said I refused to be a spy to Farlow. He then said I had to be his spy, or he would send me back to England.”  
You felt a gasp escape you.  
“Could he do that?”  
“He could. I didn’t know what to do, so I asked Jocelyn for guidance…”   
“What did she say?” you ask.  
A little gust forces a cloud out of the way. It makes the sun spread its rays on the water, glittering as fine as any sapphire.   
“Her idea was to give Farlow a fake tip, ruining his reputation.” He reported flatly.  
“Even if it is Farlow, isn’t that a little cruel?”   
Setting the book and paper aside, you looked right at him. You noticed how your breath was lighter seeing his angular, striking face.  
“I refused. Y/N, I couldn’t do it. But she says I must do it. She says I must spy on both for the other! You see…somehow…she has her heart set on…”  
He paused a little. He then released a held breath through his nose and whispered into your ear, careful of any possible listeners even in the bushes.   
“On making me governor of Virginia…”  
Your blood ran a little cold.  
“How would that work? I mean, how does one become the governor of Virginia?” you asked with that same quietness.  
Any hunger from your job was replaced with nerves of how close you noticed he was moving to you. You caught yourself leaning away but made yourself meet him a little closer. Bidding your legs to be still and not run off, you planted your weight firm on the earth and took note of each word.  
“The governor is usually elected or chosen by the king. Or the last governor dies or retires.”  
“Do you want to be the governor?” you asked.  
He hesitantly nodded.  
“Sometimes. The idea of it. I thought if I got people to love me. If I could help others and this colony…then I could be voted in. That’s how everything’s decided now. People here have the chance here to have a voice, and I could help them all. But then I see the reality. Spying? Lying? Ruining reputations? Y/N, is the title worth such deeds?”   
The trees rustled.  
“I have even seen people die here to get power. And not just from being executed.” He adds on.   
He turned, looking at the water. Then he huffed in frustration. You took your arms and hugged your stomach. A bit of sunshine fell on your back, warming you.  
“Then you don’t have to do it. Tell them all no.” You offered.   
His head bolted around, and his jaw was a little slack.  
“But…I…” he began to stutter a little.  
“Well, what do you want, Samuel? Other than being the governor?” you questioned.  
“I…I just want a simple life in this colony. A home, Safety. I…I want to be a father someday. A good one. I want to live here. Where it’s beautiful and I have a purpose and everything’s new.” he said.   
He shrugged once he noticed your small smile.  
“Well, I can’t have children. Jocelyn doesn’t want any. Or at least for now” he corrected himself.  
Thinking over this, you folded your hands in your lap. The redness from all the work was starting to show and you could feel how rough they had gotten. It was nothing like the large, white, smooth hands he had.  
“Then, at least, you should go to Jocelyn and tell her that it’s not safe to play this game and to let it go. And you can tell Farlow you would rather be back in England then spy if you’re feeling brave. He may have been just scaring you into it,” you suggested.  
He looked right at you and then you looked down into your lap, your cheeks were hot.  
“Samuel I…I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t budge into your business.” You apologized.  
Backing away a little, you noticed how close you were leaning to him, nearly to his face. It may have miscommunicated something.   
“Don’t worry yourself, I gave you my business!” he said.  
“You will respect her wishes about children, right?”  
“Why of course!”  
“If you respect her wishes, why shouldn’t she respect your wish for a simple life? A marriage is supposed to have compromises, even a friendship needs compromises.”  
“Well…it’s a little silly- we aren’t even married yet! Are you sure?”  
A cloud moved over the sun.  
“Absolutely. Then say you will not be a spy, you won’t ruin anyone’s reputation, and that you will not become governor of Virginia by those actions. It will be hard but…something can be figured out…you can find a way to compromise. You should tell her it’s not safe. People have died. You don’t have to do anything that threatens your life…” you reasoned.  
He nodded and his face grew lighter. It was as if the sun out on the water was now shining from inside of him.  
“I’ll tell her when I see her later today. Thank you, so much, Y/N.”  
“You’re welcome.”  
Your hands twitched a little and your mouth went dry. Then he turned to look at the white, blue, and yellow gowns toppled over near the basket.  
He got up from sitting and then turned to see you from below. He noticed your blue skirt still blooming around you.  
“May I help you up?” he offered.  
You gave a little nod with your eyes wide.   
He reached out his hands and, though pulling back a little at first, you reached for them with a light grip. You noticed the stains of ink on his knuckles and fingernails. But they were warm, smooth. They were soft, too, almost like gloves rather than skin except for the very fingertips. Strength pulsed beneath that softness from what you could feel. Feeling the tightening of his arms to help pull you up, you were lifted to standing.  
He held your own hands still for only a few seconds. You could feel his pulse.   
There were birdsong and a flutter of wings from the tree above you. A cloud moved away, and it became sunny again and the river gurgled in approval.   
Once he released a little bit, you willed yourself to pull your hands away, retreating demurely to your stomach while he lowered his. Yet inside you were buzzing slightly from that small sample of his skin.  
“Do you need me to escort you home, Y/N?” he asked politely.  
The tight lips of the local women haunted the back of your mind again from the flower picking day. And Lady Yeardley’s warning.  
“Sadly, no. Besides, I don’t want to keep your lady waiting for her clothes…”  
“Oh, I forgot. Y/N…I apologize for any inconvenience.” He said with something that could only be described as sadness before he walked back to the colony.  
The next afternoon, Jocelyn said all her clothes were clean. There would be no laundry to do today.  
Instead, she had given you a list of shopping that needed to be done as she spent her hours in the Boarding House and that could not be managed at once! As you walked out, reading the foodstuffs, you took note of how pressed and small her handwriting looked. Something she must have practiced as a child.  
But as soon as you entered the heart of town, bustling with dogs trotting by and men and women scuttling around, some smoke from a near fire for cooking cleared up with wind. You saw Alice amid it. She wore a blue dress with a pink shawl draped over her shoulders, holding a basket.   
She noticed you and walked over. Her large eyes looked blank.  
“I…I can’t marry Silas” she confided in you.   
“What!? Why?”  
“They’re in debt because of Henry paying for me and…he can’t, he can’t afford me. At least not now. We have to pay them back” she mourned. There was a crack in her voice.  
A hundred and fifty bushels of tobacco to purchase a wife was not cheap. And the Sharrow’s were not rich.  
“Alice, follow me” you implore.   
She nodded as you went back to your house and gestured her to follow you inside. You slipped your hand beneath your bed to pull out your pouch. It now felt a little heavier.  
“Alice, here, take this.” You order, handing the pouch to her.   
“What? No, I couldn’t!” Alice begged.   
“Don’t take all of it, just some of it!”  
Alice chewed on her lip as she opened the mouth of the pouch and glanced in. She immediately closed it and handed it back to you.  
“Y/N, it’s your money!”  
“And it’s your future! And I want you to be happy- you can save it up and pay for the debt and marry who you want! I’ve seen you suffer enough here. More than anyone on earth deserves. But this! This is what you deserve!” you insist.  
You open the pouch and pour out all the gold coins you had saved and earned.  
Hesitating, she finally takes half of what you have.  
“You will come to me every day when you can…” you direct sternly.  
“Y/N…”  
“And I’m going to give you half of what I earned. And don’t you dare refuse it. I’ll find the Sharrows farm and throw it in the window if I must!”  
“You’re already giving some to Verity” Alice reminded you.  
She even looked back at the door, in case Verity’s small, curly-headed figure would magically appear through.  
“Someone among us has to stay a spinster. If no one even in Jamestown wants to marry me, I may as well make your lives here bearable.”  
“Oh, Y/N, that’s not true! Someone will come along…”  
Feeling your feet curl under your shoes, a forbidden thought of Samuel’s smiling face and his blue eyes flashed by.  
You shook your head.  
“I…I don’t…It doesn’t even matter. Just take it and save it.” You finish.  
Tears welled up on Alice’s face.  
“Y/N, I don’t know how I could bear it here without you. When you’re ready, tell me about what’s troubling you. I want to help you too.” she said.  
“Please wait, then I’ll tell everything” you begged before walking back to town to shop.  
And at once you both left, laboring even when evening came.  
Downstairs, Jocelyn entered her thankfully temporary home. Master and Mistress Pierce were sitting by the fireplace, chatting.   
Eyes away.  
Walking over to where your water jug was, her eyes narrowed on it. Tonight, it would be half of your total payment. She bent over so her cloak would hide her hands, lest her hosts turn around.   
From her reticule she retrieved the bottle she swiped from the doctors. She poured some into the jug and buried it back in her reticule Taking a deep breath, she set the jug her right hand with a pouch with your payment in her left.  
Looking out upstairs into the window, you noticed the sun had dipped down and a dark blue blanketed the small roofs of the colony. Finishing a last good scrub of that always dirty floor, you noticed as Jocelyn walked upstairs and opened the door. She was decked in a light green cloak, complimenting her pink dress and green hat. She looked like a pastry amidst this brown. Shiny pearls bedecked her bodice and ears.  
“Have you supped, Mistress Woodbyrg?” you asked.  
You stood up on your knees, placing the washcloth in both of your hands.  
“Yes, with Governor Yeardley. He’s about to be the groomsman…It will be the most beautiful wedding. There will be more flowers than one could count!” she answered.  
Her eyes scanned over the floor and you almost flinched, feeling some insult threaten to bubble. But none came. Her eyes returned to you, shining.  
“I’m happy for you, Jocelyn. It will be lovely” you complimented graciously.   
Though envy bubbled in your head at the image, it was safer to offer the olive branch. You still always remembered Alice’s words. She has her kind moments, you’ll see. It’s what Alice would have wanted you to do. Or what she would have done.  
“Y/N, I have your pay here, it’s a little smaller than normal.”   
She handed over the water jug in one hand and a pouch of gold in her other hand.  
No more morsels to steal from my roof, then? You thought bitterly.  
Muttering a tired thanks, you pocketed the payment in your apron and took the water jug.  
“Do you need accompaniment?” she asked softly.  
A little taken aback, you looked up. Her face appeared warm. Despite whom it was, it seemed better than just heading back at night alone.  
“Why, yes. I, uh, I would” you answered.  
“Mercy’s afraid of the dark, it makes her tremble…does it do to you?”  
“A little.”  
You lit a lamp downstairs, handed it to Jocelyn to hold, and both of you headed outside. The sun was in the last stage of setting and a deeper blue blanketed all over the town. Once your house was in sight, it was getting darker and the blue over the town was fading to black.   
When you reached your home, you heard Jocelyn clear her throat and turned around.  
“May I come in? I…I need a bit of water. I’m sorry to disturb you.”  
“Why, of course,” you said.   
Balancing the heavy jug currently in your grip, you dug in your pocket for your keys and opened the door.  
Once you had settled the jug down on the table and scurried to light candles in the hut, you could feel Jocelyn’s eyes pouring over the lack of any grandeur of your small house. But once your last candle was lit, her eyes shone.  
She stepped around, staring. Not in apathy. But from how her head gently perched and her lips parted, it seemed to be curiosity. She gently touched the petals of a wilted wildflower and eyed an unclean dish. She peeped over to the corner window and noticed a slab of pink sticking out.   
“Oh, those primroses! They keep appearing each morning! It’s James, I bet. He probably doesn’t know Alice is on that farm yet set on marrying Silas, poor man! He’s in love and won’t confess it” you jested.   
You leaned out and admired how the flowers glowed against the reflected candlelight and soft starlight above.  
“Aren’t they lovely?” you said happily.  
After a slight pause, she turned her head to meet yours, a little smile placed on her ivory face.  
“Very” Jocelyn replied. Her voice sounded a little hoarse.  
You brought out what was Alice’s cup and poured a generous amount of water in. After you handed it, Jocelyn nodded in thanks and drank, her eyes down. Then you poured in only a little. You didn’t want to appear greedy in front of her. Even if she was starting to soften to you.  
You took a sip.  
“It’s sweet.”   
“The water from east of the river is very sweet. Thought you would like it.” Jocelyn commented.  
She was smiling larger now, her lips were soft and shining.  
“Do you need anything else? You’re a guest” you asked.  
“No, I…I need to go home.”  
“Alone? And not without me undressing you?”  
“I’m too tired. And I’m a fast walker. No need to fret. I have this lamp.”  
“Oh, well, good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
“Good night,” Jocelyn finished as she shut the door behind her.   
You turned over to get your dinner and practice your writing. But as you reached on the table for one of your books, a sudden sensation hit you. You were dizzy, nauseous and your legs were shaking. Blinking quickly, seconds passed, and it wouldn’t go away. When you tried to pick up the book, it shook in your hands and tumbled down on the floor.   
It was getting stronger. Your legs were failing you and you grabbed onto the table for support, pulling up.  
A memory of what was said on the ship hit you. What Jocelyn did. And how.  
You pulled yourself on the table, as if climbing, and grabbed the spare cup Jocelyn was given.  
There was only a small lip mark on the edge of the cup. The water was intact. You clutched your throat and shook harder than you could control.  
Breathing hard, you rushed to race out the door. Screams flew out of you.  
“Help me! Someone, please! Anyone! Help Me!” you bellowed with all of your strength.  
It wasn’t much. Only two steps outside and your legs gave out and everything went black.


End file.
